


Easy Wind, Downy Flake

by wanderingeyre



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Christmas Fluff, Falling In Love, Family Feels, Fluff, Holidays, Innkeeper!Derek, Light Angst, M/M, Mentioned Kate Argent, Snowed In, Top Derek Hale/Bottom Stiles Stilinski, but they switch it up, cozy feels, professor!Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:35:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28011009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingeyre/pseuds/wanderingeyre
Summary: The man’s hazel eyes snap with something like anger, his mouth a thin line. “We aren’t open.”Stiles opens his mouth, gaze sliding from the fire, being cheerful, to the man standing five feet from the fire who looks like he wouldn’t know cheerful if it bit him in the ass.  “The snow is bad. I barely made it here. If I try to go over the pass in this weather they’ll find my body at the bottom of the mountain come spring.”
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 32
Kudos: 381





	Easy Wind, Downy Flake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [everchanginginks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/everchanginginks/gifts).



> For everchangingkinks - Happy Holidays. I hope this makes you smile and brings you some joy. 
> 
> The only other sound's the sweep  
> Of easy wind and downy flake.
> 
> The woods are lovely, dark and deep.  
> But I have promises to keep,  
> And miles to go before I sleep,  
> And miles to go before I sleep.
> 
> -Robert Frost

The clouds were ominous in the winter sky, but Stiles would be damned if some snow kept him from getting home. He should have left a day earlier, but he’d had so many papers to grade and then he’d been invited for celebratory we-survived-the-semester drinks with some of the professors in the History and Philosophy departments. It’s hard to say no when the semester had seemed to just wear him down one small bite at time. Stiles always enjoyed his trips back home to see his dad, Scott, and Beacon Hills, but he really needed the break this year. Thank the gods and all that was holy he had a lighter semester ahead of him to do some research.

The weather as he drove into the Sierra Nevadas was getting worse, everything was white with falling snow and, while the roads seemed fine in most spots, he wasn’t sure his luck would hold out. It was already four in the afternoon and the sun was going down. He was concerned about making it over the pass before things got really nasty. The last town he’d passed was too far back to him to turn around. It was easier, at this point, to just forge ahead. He had four wheel drive, good tires on the Jeep, and he’d just had her engine rebuilt so Roscoe was running as good or better than she had in years.

The snow is the big fluffy kind that they get early in the season and it’s pretty, but it’s coming down hard and the wind is picking up and blowing it everywhere. Visibility drops quickly and Stiles starts to worry he won’t make it over the pass at all. Worst case—there's some kind of inn or ski lodge just east of the pass. He’d seen the sign on his previous trips home, something with a wolf on it.

Stiles goes around a corner and the Jeep starts sliding towards the nonexistent guardrail _ —why is there no guardrail— _ even though he’s only going thirty. Stiles abandons all hope of anything else except  _ not  _ going over the side of the mountain and freezing into a Stilescicle.

The Jeep stops sliding with one side off the road and one side on the gravel shoulder. Stiles grips the wheel, his hands anchors for his shaking body, and tries to swallow past the fear in his throat. It takes him a full five minutes before he releases his foot off the brake and eases back onto the road. He’s moving at a crawl now and can only tell he’s on the road at all because he can still see the middle yellow line directly in front of him and the reflectors on the side of the road every twenty feet. He’s sweating in his hoodie when he sees a sign. 

It’s not readable in the snow, but there’s a large outline of a wolf howling at the moon. Stiles makes a note to take a picture of it when he leaves to send to Scott and Cora. His best friend was bitten by a rogue alpha in high school and both Stiles and Scott got a quick introduction to the world of the supernatural. Scott was helped by the local werewolf pack and the rogue was taken care of - Stiles asked lots of questions  _ how _ but the adults never answered and no amount of digging revealed the truth. 

Stiles didn’t have a lot of interaction with the Hale family except that Cora had been in the same grade as him and Scott in school and the three of them had become friends. Stiles, as an extension of Scott, had been invited to some of the larger family events and Stiles liked the Hales.

The road to the lodge isn’t plowed or hasn't been plowed since the snow really started coming down, so it’s even slower going than the main road. The tires spin out a couple of times and Stiles makes a mental note of what he has in the Jeep that could be useful. He has a ski jacket in the back and some snow shoes that he’d planned on using with Scott during the break. Worst case scenario, he can park the Jeep, load up his backpack, and shoe it to the lodge. Not ideal, but Stiles is just relieved at the prospect of some shelter.

Ten minutes later, Stiles lets out a breath he’s been holding and eases his long fingers from their death grip on the steering wheel as the lights of a large building come into view. If Stiles was going to design a mountain lodge, it would look like this, all wood, stone, and windows, as if it sprung from the side of the mountain itself. Lights pour onto the snow in a warm glow, and Stiles wants to weep at the sight of it. He might shed a tear, but that is between him and Roscoe, who has kept all his secrets.

There’s a covered parking area on the side of the building, and Stiles parks the Jeep and grabs his backpack. He’ll come back out for the rest of his stuff later if there’s a room for him, though at this point he’ll pay to sleep on a couch if it means not having to drive any farther.

The wind pulls moisture from Stiles’s eyes and the air is cold enough now that it burns his nose as he breathes. There’s woodsmoke in the air and Stiles hopes that means a warm fire and a hot drink, preferably with alcohol, is in his future. He walks quickly, but carefully, to the front door of the lodge. The door is rustic wood with iron accents, imposing and welcoming at the same time. Stiles pulls open the door and walks thankfully inside. The air of the lodge wraps around Stiles and his body gives one last shiver before the heat starts to seep into his bones.

There’s fresh wood in the stone fireplace and a fire crackling with cheer in the open space of the lodge. Soft couches and overstuffed armchairs are spread throughout the room. Despite Christmas being days away, there are no decorations up or people around that Stiles can see. There’s a desk to the left of the doorway. Stiles heads for it and presses the little brass bell on the desk. The metal ringing sound is loud in the lodge where the only other sounds are the fire and the wind howling around the corners of the building outside. Stiles waits a minute before hitting the bell again.

Stiles is considering picking up the bell and walking through the lodge ringing it until he finds someone. “Maybe this is like the Shining and I’ll be dead by morning. Redrum. Redrum. Stiles isn’t here, Mrs. Florence.” 

Stiles chuckles at his own jokes but the sound dies as the most drop dead gorgeous man he’s ever seen strides into the lodge from a hallway on the left. The man is Stiles’s height, but with slightly more heft to his arms than Stiles, who spends his time at a desk or running. He has on worn jeans that hug his thighs and a deep green Henly that has no business looking that nice stretched across anyone’s shoulders. The man has dark hair that curls around his ears, and a short dark beard that Stiles wants to touch. 

The man’s hazel eyes snap with something like anger, his mouth a thin line. “We aren’t open.”

Stiles opens his mouth, gaze sliding from the fire, being cheerful, to the man standing five feet from the fire who looks like he wouldn’t know cheerful if it bit him in the ass. 

“The snow is bad. I barely made it here. If I try to go over the pass in this weather they’ll find my body at the bottom of the mountain come spring.” Stiles gives the man his best charming, I’m completely harmless smile, the one that works on men and women alike.

The man’s eyebrows dip low. “We don’t have any rooms available.”

Stiles makes a show of looking around the empty lodge. “Looks like you have plenty of room for one lowly traveler. Are you seriously going to tell me that there’s no room at the inn? During Christmas? Is there a barn somewhere you’re going to direct me to next?”

The man snorts _ — _ an aborted laugh before he realizes that Stiles made him laugh and he cuts it off short. “It’s a couple more days until Christmas and are you seriously comparing yourself to the Messiah?”

“Well, I have been told I’m unique, charming, and my best friend tells me often that I saved him in high school, so yes?” Stiles tries his smile again.

The man does not look affected by Stiles’s charm, which usually works on new people at the beginning, until they get tired of how much he talks when a new idea gets him going. If anything, the man’s frown deepens and Stiles swears if his eyebrows dip much farther down, they’re going to be touching his chin.

Stiles sighs. “Look man, I’m stuck here for the foreseeable future. I don’t know why you don’t want me here nor do I care, but I can’t go back out in the snow. I’ll sleep anywhere, even on a couch and pay for the privilege. I just need a place to crash until the storm passes.”

The man’s shoulders move down just a fraction. “I have a room you can have until the snow passes.”

“Great, let me go grab my bag out of my Jeep.” Stiles pulls his stocking hat down to make sure his ears are covered, puts his hoodie up for good measure, and trudges out through the snow to the Jeep. His large duffel should have everything he needs for a few days so he grabs that and heads back to the lodge, avoiding the icy spots he found on his last trips. He’s freezing again by the time he pushes through the door.

The man is waiting for him at the desk this time and Stiles is floored anew at how good the man looks in this place surrounded by wood and wearing a scowl. He didn’t know he had a grumpy lumberjack kink but there’s always something new to be learned every day and Stiles would absolutely, one hundred percent let this man climb him like a tree.

“I have a room ready for you.” He slides a regular key on a keyring attached to a leather disc with the number of the room on one side and a howling wolf on the other. The words Howling Wolf Lodge are stamped into the leather. “Room 109. It’s to the right just down the hall.”

Stiles takes the key and hefts up his bag. “Is there any food or anything?”

The man sighs loudly. “If you go down this hall,” he points to the one on the left he had come out of when Stiles had arrived, “there’s a dining room and a kitchen. It’s just you and me, so stick your head in the kitchen and let me know when you’re hungry. I have chili going.”

Stiles nods. “Sounds great. Hey, I didn’t get your name.”

“Derek.”

“I’m Stiles.”

“I know. It’s the name you gave me when you signed the paperwork just now for the room.”

“Uh, right. Okay, I’ll uh, go drop off my stuff and see you in the kitchen in a few.” Stiles knows he’s blushing but this man is scrambling his brain. “Okay, I’m leaving now.”

“So you’ve said.”

The man’s eyes up this close are a kaleidoscope of greens and blues and Stiles literally cannot get his feet to move. Finally, the man clears his throat and Stiles startles into motion.

\---

Derek groans internally as he watches his unwanted guest stride away towards the room he assigned him, the room that should have been Cora’s. Derek shoves his disappointment down. It’s bad enough that his mother had called at lunch to tell him that the roads from Beacon Hills to here were already too bad that they wouldn’t make it today, but then she’d called an hour ago and said the Department of Transportation had closed the highway and the pass until further notice because of the snowfall and wind. 

Derek could handle being without his family, but now he had a stranger to care for _ — _ a stranger with whiskey colored eyes and a pattern of moles on his pale skin that went down his neck and, Derek suspects, across his broad shoulders. A stranger named Stiles who talks too much and smiles easily. This is not the kind of company he wants or needs. He likes it better when he’s alone.

Derek has owned and run the Howling Wolf Lodge for ten years and he loves the quiet of the mountains. He usually has a staff that deals with the more people heavy aspects of owning a lodge, but he sent them all home for the holidays. For the past six years, his family has been coming up to the lodge for Christmas and Derek has reserved the entire place for them. Business is good enough during other times of the year that he doesn’t need the holiday money. 

He sighs and figures he better go back into the kitchen and heat up more of the chili for Stiles. He’d prepared a huge batch yesterday in anticipation of his family being here, but had only taken out enough for himself for dinner. The rest he would have to freeze and hope that his family could come before New Year’s at least. It had been his choice to leave the family fold, his penance really for almost getting everyone killed, no one expected him to keep the punishment going but himself. HIs mother told him in no uncertain terms often that he was welcome back to live with his family at any time, but Derek couldn’t do it, couldn’t allow himself to make the same mistake again. He loved his family too much and he didn’t trust himself not to make mistakes that could hurt them.

Derek pulls out all the things Stiles might want on his chili _ — _ cheese, sour cream, hot sauce, chives _ — _ and puts them on the table. He tilts his head and listens. Stiles’s heartbeat is loud in the relative quiet of the lodge and Derek tracks his movements as the other man meanders his way to the dining room. Derek is placing the steaming bowl of chili on the table when Stiles walks through the archway into the room.

Stiles moves across the room with a confidence that Derek could only dream of, open and jaunty, as if this was a festive gathering and Stiles is only too pleased to be here instead of an unexpected meeting of two people for a somber meal. His face lights up when he sees the chili and his large eyes sparkle with pleasure.

“Oh man, I love chili.” Stiles plops down into a chair and picks up the spoon, dipping it into the chili and trying a bite before adding anything. “Oh my God, can I marry this? This is amazing.”

Derek finds himself preening at the praise then catches himself and scowls, sitting at the table to join Stiles, who has started adding a little of everything to his bowl. Derek watches Stiles eat and then, thinking the other man will be too occupied with eating to talk, puts his spoon in his own food. His bite is halfway to his mouth when Stiles asks him a question.

“Where are you from?”

“Beacon Hills.”

Stiles drops his spoon in his bowl with a clatter. “No way.” Then Stiles’s eyes get even larger in his face and Derek swears the whiskey color lightens. “You’re  _ Derek Hale _ .”

“Last time I checked.”

“No I mean, Derek Hale, Talia’s son, you’re the one that lives far away. You’re a werewolf.” Stiles screeches the last word and Derek looks around by instinct to see if anyone else has heard, but they are alone.

“How do you know my family and how do you know about werewolves?” Derek leans forward and scents the air, trying to find anything that would indicate Stiles is a threat, but the other man is open, excitement radiating from him. 

“Dude, my best friend is Scott McCall. He was bitten in high school by a rogue alpha and your family took him in.”

Derek already knew these things about Stiles, knew the minute he had seen Stiles’s full name when he checked him in. Stiles Stilinski, son of the Beacon Hills Sheriff and in his sister’s year in high school. “Don’t call me dude.”

“Dude, I can’t believe we’ve never met. I’ve heard so much about you.” Stiles is still beaming with excitement.

“I’ve heard very little about you.” It’s a lie. Cora never shuts up about Stiles.

Derek meant the words to shut Stiles up, but instead the other man pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and snaps a picture of Derek before Derek knows what’s happening. 

Stiles is cackling to himself as he starts furiously typing. “Cora, Scott, and Isaac are going to die.”

Derek straightens. “What’re you doing?”

“Sending them proof that I am sitting here, having a delightful meal and conversation with the One and Only Derek Hale.”

Derek crosses his arms and mumbles, “It’s not that delightful.”

Stiles hears him and laughs harder, then puts his phone away. “I was totally meant to end up here.” His face drops a little. “I wonder when the roads will open.”

“DOT says the pass is closed until further notice. It’ll probably be a few days.”

Stiles’s smell softens with disappointment and worry. “That means I won’t be home for Christmas.” Stiles takes a bite of chili and sighs, the sadness around him deepening into grief. “Dad and I’ve never been apart for Christmas. It was my mom’s favorite holiday, she died when I was a kid, and he’ll be alone for the first time this year.”

“I’m sorry.” Derek keeps talking though he’s not sure why. “My family was supposed to be here for Christmas. It’s why the lodge is empty. We usually spend it here together and now they won’t be able to come.”

Stiles perks up. “Hey, but now you won’t be alone. I’m here. This is going to be fun.”

Derek is not sure Stiles is a good replacement for his loud, rambunctious family, but he can’t help the small smile that peaks through at Stiles’s obvious pleasure.

Later that night, after Stiles has gone to his room and Derek is alone, he sends a text to his mom.

\---

Stiles wakes up in one of the most comfortable beds he’s ever slept in. The mattress is just the right amount of soft and the heavy down comforter makes it almost impossible to get out of bed. Stiles rolls over and looks out the large window. Outside the morning sun gilds the snow and the snow capped mountains rise in the horizon. It’s idyllic.

He wishes he was back in his childhood home and he misses his dad. It’s been four months since he’s been home and the ache of missing his dad, Scott, and Melissa opens up. He’s never not been home for Christmas. He knows Melissa and Scott will invite his dad over, but he worries.

As if his thoughts were made manifest, his phone buzzes. Stiles moves fast to grab it from the bedside table, glances at the screen, then answers it as he snuggles back into the covers.

“Hey, Pops.”

“I wanted to check in on you. I double checked with DOT and they said it could be a week before they got the roads to the pass open. The mountain roads get less traffic so there’s less pressure to plow them.”

“I’m sorry, Dad. I’m going to miss Christmas.” Stiles sits up. “The inn I texted you about yesterday is actually owned by Derek Hale.”

His dad makes a noise on the other side of the phone. “Well that certainly explains the phone call I got this morning.”

Stiles glances at the clock on the bedside table. It’s 10:27am.

His dad continues, “Talia Hale invited me to come and spend Christmas with her family.”

Warmth roots in Stiles’s chest.  _ That sneaky wolf _ , he thinks. “That was nice of her.”

“She said it seemed the thing to do since our sons would be spending Christmas together.”

Stiles chats with his dad for a bit longer, promises to call again tomorrow, then drags himself out of bed. The air in the room is chilly and Stiles enjoys the shower, not wanting to leave the steamy warmth.

Derek is the image of an anti-social recluse living in the mountains, but he is thoughtful. He must have called his mom last night or very early this morning. The vine of warmth blooms in Stiles. Cora has never mentioned how deliciously gorgeous her brother is, and warmth blooms somewhere else. It’s been a while since Stiles has been interested in anyone, but Stiles is already hard and aching, images of Derek’s almost smile in his mind, when he takes himself in hand. 

Stiles steps out of the shower loose from his orgasm and determined to get Derek to smile an honest-to-God-all-the-way-smile.

He follows the smell of coffee and food to the dining room, which is empty, so Stiles continues on into the kitchen. Shining surfaces gleam, pots hang ready to be filled with ingredients, and a quiet hovers over the space. In the corner is a small table with four chairs. On the table is an assortment of fruit, muffins, rolls, and some hard boiled eggs. A french press is prepped on the counter next to the table and a water kettle. There’s a small yellow sticky note next to the kettle that says, “Good morning. Enjoy breakfast.” in a precise, neat hand.

Stiles eats while he waits for the water to heat, then the coffee to steep. He finds some travel mugs in a cabinet by the table and takes the largest one there, fills it with coffee, sugar, and cream, then goes to look for Derek.

He looks in the main room and, finding that empty, he wanders down one hallway, then the next. There’s a flight of stairs at the end of one hallway and he goes up and down another hall with locked doors, empty guest rooms. The hallway opens up into a loft that overlooks the main room. The colors throughout the lodge are all natural greens and browns with accents of red and blue. There are carved vines, trees, wolves, foxes, and birds in places the eyes could miss if you weren’t paying attention.

Stiles is always paying attention.

Stiles leans over the bannister and finishes his coffee. He’s disappointed and missing his dad, but this is an adventure. Stiles loves things that spring from the ordinary and beg to be examined, and Derek Hale is certainly beyond the ordinary. Some people might see his axe murder in the woods frown and turn tail and run, but Stiles wants to snuggle up to Derek and make him smile and laugh and take all his clothes off.

Stiles has to find him first for any of those things to happen. 

Stiles keeps looking. He finds a couple of massive hot tubs in a secluded alcove of the lodge and a door marked  _ Employees Only _ . The door looks promising, so Stiles tries the handle, a grin breaking over his face when he finds it unlocked. 

The door opens up into a sitting room with a small pot bellied stove, an overstuffed couch, a rolltop desk, and a wall of bookshelves. Derek comes through the arched opening of the room and the air whooshes out of Stiles’s lungs.

Derek is wearing tight jeans and a midnight blue sweater with thumbholes that looks so soft Stiles wants to crawl inside it. The sweater makes Derek’s eyes look more blue and gold than they did the day before and Stiles can’t look away from them. 

Stiles has a white knuckled grip on his cup of coffee. “Thanks for breakfast,” he blurts out.  _ Please let me climb you like a tree, _ is what he’s thinking and he’s relieved that’s not what came out of his mouth.

“You were looking for something.” It’s not a question. Derek’s eyebrows are drawn down and his voice is low, like he’s angry. He inhales and stills, the tips of his ears turn pink.

Stiles is transfixed by the blush on Derek’s ears and he wants to get closer to them, but his feet remain rooted to the floor and his mind blanks. “What?”

Derek grinds his teeth. “You were wandering all over the lodge. What were you looking for?”

“How did you…” Stiles trails off when Derek gives him a withering look. “Right. Werewolf hearing.” Stiles shifts his weight from his left foot to his right then looks Derek right in the eyes. Stiles knows how to stand up to wolves and Derek’s frowning eyebrows would not win this battle. “I was looking for you, actually.”

Derek jerks a little at this. “Why?”

Stiles laughs and Derek gives a little jerk again. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re snowed in, it’s three days until Christmas, and you are literally the only person I have here to interact with.”

Derek sighs, deep and heavy, crossing his arms. “What do you want to do?”

“You got any snowshoes?”

Derek blinks. “Yes.”

Stiles grins. “Let’s go snowshoeing. I have my own in the Jeep.”

“I don’t know. I do have work to do.” 

Stiles knows he’s going to lose him. “There’s no one else here but me. How much work could you really have to do? Please. It’ll be fun.” Stiles then bats his eyes at Derek.

Derek rolls his eyes, but Stiles doesn’t miss the slight curl Derek’s mouth does in an upward direction and Stiles gives an inward high five to himself. “I’ll get some stuff together for a pack. Do you have snow pants, gloves, and a hat?”

“Yep.”

“Meet me in the main room in ten minutes.”

Stiles whoops in triumph and runs out of the room.

\---

It’s hard not to be infected with Stiles’s obvious joy in the outing. The other man vibrates with happiness, and his cheeks must hurt with the amount of smiling he’s doing. Derek is leading the way and he turns around to check on Stiles, whose cheeks are red and eyes bright with delight. Derek turns back around and keeps going.

He leads them along the nordic ski trail about two miles, the forest muted under the snow around them, their passage and heartbeats loud in the relative quiet. The air is harsh and cold in his lungs but it feels good after being inside for a few days. It’s been too long since he’s been snowshoeing and Derek admits to himself that Stiles was right. Snowshoeing and taking a break is what he needed.

The warming shelter, a three sided structure with a pot bellied stove in the middle, is nestled on one side of a mountain meadow. In the summer, a creek runs through the low area that the animals frequent, and a hike to the shelter is a favorite of lodge guests. In the winter, the meadow is visited often by deer and smaller animals, which makes stopping to warm up after a hike fun for guests. Derek has been meaning to come and check on the supplies and this excursion with Stiles gives him an excuse to do so.

Stiles unclips his snowshoes and begins examining every inch of the shelter. “This is awesome.”

“Do you want to stop and have a fire?” Derek snaps his own shoes off and hangs them on one of the pegs on the wall.

“Is that even a question? Man, I wish we had some marshmallows and chocolate.” Stiles sits on the bench near the stove and sighs wistfully.

Derek smirks, shrugs off his backpack, and hands Stiles a bag of marshmallows and packets of cocoa mix. He pulls out two mugs and sets them on the bench.

Stiles is clutching the marshmallows and packets to his chest and on the verge of laughing, he’s so pleased. Derek takes a deep breath and his nose is flooded with the warm, gingery smell of happy Stiles.

“Oh my God, will you marry me?”

Derek gives Stiles a small smile, his own heart thumping at the steady truth in that hyperbole. He turns around and starts layering wood into the stove and to hide the rush of warmth that spreads through him at providing something that makes Stiles happy. That warmth is concerning enough, but on it’s heels is something even more disconcerting. Want and need flood through Derek and his hand on the log he’s holding tightens until he hears the wood creak. Stiles’s cheeks are flushed red from the cold and Derek wonders if a blush over those cheeks would look the same when the other man was naked on a bed. Derek takes another deep breath that only fills him with the smell of Stiles again. Derek could breathe through his mouth instead, but he doesn’t. He keeps pulling in the ginger smell that’s filling the shelter and tangling around him like a vine until it’s hold is tight and relentless and Derek doesn’t want to be free of it.

The fire is small and bright. Derek fills the kettle with water and puts it over the fire to warm. Stiles is still moving around the shelter and finds the roasting sticks. He opens the bag and impales two marshmallows with such glee that Derek can’t help the smile that spreads over his face.

“I saw that,” Stiles says as he twirls the marshmallows slowly.

Derek is checking the wood pile, it’s high still, and the matches and firestarters are all where they should be, still plenty of both. “What?”

Stiles pokes Derek in the chest when he sits down next to Stiles. “You smiled.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” The edges of his mouth go back up at Stiles’s ridiculousness.

Stiles chuckles. “Whatever you say, sourwolf.” 

Derek moves closer to Stiles on the bench until their sides are pressed together, tells himself it’s just to keep the human warm, but he revels in the feeling of being this close to someone that’s not related to him.  _ How long has it been since he touched anyone? _ He wonders. He has staff that works with him at the lodge and he cares about all of them, takes care of them like family, but he maintains a distance from them. He doesn’t trust himself with people anymore, not after Kate.

Derek has had enough therapy that he knows Kate manipulated him and took advantage of a child, but no amount of therapy has helped him get over the sense that he has bad judgement about people, that there’s something broken in him. He’s been careful ever since Kate to keep his distance with everyone except his family. Even the newer pack members, Isaac and Scott, don’t know him well.

Except, here is Stiles, nestled into his side like he belongs there, smelling like home and warmth, and Derek wants nothing more than to open the door to all of it _ — _ which is why he locks the door and leans his forehead on it instead. Stiles will leave in a few days and he will never see the other man again.

A hollow feeling engulfs him at the thought of Stiles leaving and that’s when Derek knows he’s in trouble, knows he should not care one way or another what happens to Stiles but there is something about Stiles that makes him care. 

Stiles pulls the marshmallows out of the fire. They are brown on the outside and Derek knows they will be soft and perfect on the inside. 

Stiles extends the roasting stick to Derek. “Want one?”

Derek takes the top marshmallow off and bites it in half. The crust of the marshmallow gives way and the inside is smoky and melted and Derek holds back the appreciative noise that tries to escape him. Derek watches as Stiles gingerly pulls off the second marshmallow with long, strong fingers. Stiles shoves the entire marshmallow into his mouth and makes a noise that goes straight to Derek’s cock. Derek shifts to cover his reaction.

“This is the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth.” Stiles’s eyes are closed when he says the words.

“I’m sure there are other things that would be as good or better in your mouth.” Derek isn’t sure why he responds this way, probably something to do with the sudden tightness of his pants. 

Stiles’s eyes pop open and he turns to look at Derek. Derek shoves the rest of his marshmallow in his mouth and clamps his lips together. He stands up and pours the hot water in the two cups, adds cocoa, stirs the mixture and hands one cup to Stiles, who is still watching Derek with those large Bambi eyes.

“Thanks.” Stiles takes the cup and looks at Derek when he takes the first sip. He keeps his eyes steady on Derek as his tongue darts out of his mouth and runs along his upper lip. 

Derek’s brain function narrows to the image of that dart of pink and his heart stutters in his chest. He’s thankful Stiles can’t hear his heartbeat. He drags his eyes away and focuses on the frozen meadow in front of them. Derek’s hands around his cup are tight as he searches for anything else to focus on except the weight of Stiles’s eyes.

The journey back is pleasant, even if Stiles asks a litany of serious and nonsensical questions about the lodge and the area, how they get supplies, and will they run out of food before the snow plows come so they’ll have to resort to eating each other Donner Party style. Stiles catches up to him and shoes side by side while he asks the last one. Derek starts to smother the smile that breaks out over his face and the aborted laugh that chuffs out of him, but then he sees Stiles’s face, triumphant about something and grinning, and Derek keeps smiling.

Derek’s thoughts are a jumble and, instead of untangling them, he shoves them into a corner and enjoys these moments in the snow, the world quiet and disappeared except for the chatting man beside him. He picks up the moments with Stiles from the last few hours and holds them gently, wondering where such treasures are kept safe. 

They get back to the lodge, hang up their snow shoes in the equipment room and go back inside. Stiles hesitates when they get to the main room.

“What are you doing the rest of the day?” he asks. 

Derek was going to finish some paperwork and pay some bills, but that has lost its appeal when there are a pair of large whiskey colored eyes sweeping over him. “Not much, do you have something in mind?”

“I want to read some stuff I might use in a class next semester. I was wondering if we could make a fire and read or if I could make a fire alone if you’re too busy.” Stiles shuffles his weight from foot to foot and Derek can’t think of a single reason to say no even though he knows the list is long.

“I need to change out of my snow clothes, then I can build a fire. Want some lunch? I can make us a cheese and meat tray or some other snacks. I had plenty of food stocked up for my family,” Derek offers.

Stiles’s smile is so wide, Derek drinks it in, happy he didn’t say no. “Great.”

They start out on opposite ends of the couch, eating snacks and reading.

“What are you reading?” Stiles moves closer and peers over Derek’s shoulder and reads, “ _ Lafayette in the Somewhat United States _ . Is it good? I’ve been meaning to pick up one of her books.”

“I like  _ Hamilton _ and I liked Vowell’s other books, so I thought I’d read this one. It’s good so far.” Derek’s face heats up.

“You’re a  _ Hamilton _ fan?” Stiles cackles. “I knew you had secret depths.”

“Shut up and read your book,” Derek growls, but he’s secretly pleased at Stiles’s obvious glee.

One thing Derek should have expected, but did not, is that Stiles is incapable of being still for more than ten or fifteen minutes at a time. Stiles reads, tucks his feet underneath him, shoves crackers and pickled sausage in his mouth, turns a page, and flops his head on the arm of the couch. A couple of minutes later, Stiles grabs more food, shifts to sit another way and this repeats itself over and over. At first, Derek found it slightly irritating until he realized that every time Stiles moved, he was fractionally closer to Derek, as though he was being pulled in by gravity and didn’t realize it. Derek doesn’t move, except to turn the page of his own book, fascinated by the way Stiles moves and how close he is getting to him.

Eventually, Stiles ends up leaning against Derek and then proceeds to drape around Derek in different ways as he shifts around. Derek relaxes into the contact and they spend the rest of the day like that. It’s the best afternoon Derek can remember having in months, maybe years.

The sun goes down, Derek feeds them a simple meal of Greek chicken and rice, and then they are back on the couch to watch a movie at Stiles’s request. Derek is beginning to be unable to tell the other man no about anything so they end up watching  _ Ant Man _ , even though it’s Derek’s least favorite Marvel movie. It’s worth it because Stiles never moves from his side. 

That night, Derek goes to bed with a warm feeling in his chest that he isn’t sure how to define.

\---

Stiles leaves his room the next day with three thoughts in mind. One, Christmas is two days away and there are no decorations up in the lodge, anywhere. Two, he is going to decorate and he’s going to get Derek to help him. Three, Stiles is going to gather his nerve and kiss Derek Hale because he’s tired of imagining it and wants to feel the real thing. 

Breakfast is waiting for him again, but there’s no sign of Derek. Stiles fixes a cup of coffee, grabs a muffin, and goes in search of the man that kept him up half the night with a longing for hands that were not his own to run down his sides and wrap around him.

Stiles knocks but doesn’t pause before going through the Employees Only door that he now knows leads into Derek’s apartment. He wonders if it’s even worth knocking. Werewolf hearing would have assured that the moment Stiles walked out of his room _ — _ he tested the soundproofing of his room yesterday with some key expletive laced phrases and Derek’s name - Derek knew everything that Stiles did before landing on his doorstep. Unless Derek’s apartment was soundproofed too. Stiles did pause at that thought then dismissed it. It would be too advantageous for a person running a lodge like this to be able to hear when things were going awry. 

The front room is as empty as is the next room, which has a couch and a tv with more bookshelves. There’s a galley kitchen tucked off the living room, with a counter that overlooks the tv and couch. Two wood and iron barstools are tucked under the counter. Stiles trains his fingers over the books, along the back of the stools, and along the short hallway to the empty bedroom. He flips on the light switch _ — _ he already knows Derek isn’t here and that later the werewolf will know Stiles was here - and looks around the room.

Stiles takes a deep breath. Even his human nose can smell the lingering presence of the owner of this room and want sits heavy inside him. The queen size bed has a wood and iron headboard, similar to the style of the barstools, rustic and sturdy, and the bed is covered in a plain comforter of deep maroon. The bed is meticulously made and Stiles snorts thinking of his own unmade bed in his room. Driven by a need that is hard to name, Stiles runs a palm over the comforter, sliding his hand up and tucking it under the covers and along the pillow closest to where he’s standing. He knows he shouldn’t, knows Derek will lay down and smell him later as he tries to sleep, but he does it with a grin on his face. There are a lot of ways to seduce a werewolf and Stiles has known Scott and Cora long enough to have learned a few tricks.

Stiles hums as he sips his coffee and leaves Derek’s apartment and keeps searching. He wanders for a while before finding an open door down the hall from the kitchen, a door that Stiles is certain was closed and locked the day he went exploring. 

Stiles has something witty on the tip of his tongue when he rounds the corner into what he sees is some kind of store room, but his eyes land on Derek and every coherent thought in Stiles mind is reduced to a jumble of incoherent mumblings.

Derek’s back is to him and he’s holding a clipboard and a pen. His shoulders are stretching a worn Henly in maroon and he must have showered recently because his hair, which is long enough to curl over his ears and neck, is still the slightest bit damp. His jeans hug his ass like they were tailored to give Stiles enough fantasies for the rest of his life. All that would be enough, but what kills Stiles, what makes his blood boil over and everything in him tighten, is the fact that Derek is barefoot.

Derek turns and Stiles can’t look away from the way Derek looks soft and vulnerable with his toes visible. It sucks all the air from Stiles’s lungs and he leans against the doorframe, which Stiles hopes looks casual and not at all like he’s trying to give his knees the support they need to not completely collapse.

Derek starts to say something to Stiles, but he breathes in first, and whatever he was going to say never makes it past his lips, which is the next thing that’s snagged Stiles’s attention. Thankfully, his brain reboots and he manages to take a couple of steps into the storeroom.

“Derek, I have a problem.” Stiles says.  _ I wish you had a lot less clothes on. _

An eyebrow goes up at that and Stiles swears he’s going to do a linguistic study on the entire language present in the movements of Derek’s eyebrows.

“And what exact problem would that be?” Derek asks, facing Stiles but standing in that tense way of unmoving that only predators can manage.

Stiles has never wanted to be prey so much in his life. He clears his throat. “This place is decidedly lacking in festive cheer. I thought if you could show me where the decorations were, and I assume even a grinchwolf like you believes in the power of Christmas and Santa, that I could put up a tree and some lights.”

Derek doesn’t reply for a long time, then nods. “I’m almost done here. You can help me get out the boxes.” Derek turns his back on Stiles and goes back to marking things in his list and counting things on the shelves, which are filled with toilet paper, soap, cleaning products, and other items that Stiles finds far less fascinating than Derek.

Derek leads Stiles to a freight elevator and takes him down to the basement, which is clean, well-lit, meticulously organized, and decidedly not giving off any murder basement vibes. Stiles is starting to think that Derek spends all his free time creating organizational methods and small labels for everything in the lodge. Derek grabs a flatbed cart from next to the door and pushes it to the back corner of the room. Derek tilts his head as he considers the wall of boxes labeled “Christmas” with a room number or name underneath.

“We only need the ones for the main room, I think.” Derek starts pulling boxes down.

It takes three trips, but soon there’s a pile of boxes in the main room and Stiles opens each one, peering inside and pulling things out at random.

“Dude, you have a ton of decorations. You obviously don’t hate Christmas. Why haven’t you decorated yet?” Stiles pulls out a wooden Santa with rosy cheeks and a very elf-like appearance.

Derek doesn’t reply right away and Stiles looks up. Derek’s face is carefully blank and he’s holding a garland in his hands. “My family usually decorates together. It’s always been our favorite holiday.” 

Werewolves are tactile creatures. Stiles has spent enough time snuggled on the couch with Scott or having Cora run her fingers across Stiles’s neck to know that weres touch everything and everyone. It’s how they say, this thing is important, it has meaning, and I was here to bear witness of it in the world. 

Derek is economical with everything he does, including how he touches things. He never does it more than he needs to, no stray fingertips or flat palms against surfaces, and he hasn’t touched Stiles. At all. Not once. Stiles carries the Santa with him and closes the distance between him and Derek. The other man watches his approach with wariness.

Stiles swallows and hopes this doesn’t backfire. He grabs the back of Derek’s neck. Derek shivers at the contact and Stiles slides his palm over Derek’s shoulder and down his arm, pulling back with he reaches Derek’s elbow. Stiles holds the Santa between them, like the merry visage of a fat man will help him if Derek takes offense at what Stiles has just done _ — _ touched a wolf to comfort him, to tell him he’s not alone, touches him like Stiles has a right to do so.

“My dad and I decorate together too. Christmas was my mom’s favorite and we always talk about her while we put up the tree, which ornaments were her favorite, how she laughed when I broke the arm off the glass angel and helped me fix it, and how she loved to drink her coffee in the morning by the tree.”

“Thank you.” Derek’s voice is raw with a tidal pool of emotions, trapped but vibrantly alive. Derek runs his fingers tentatively over the back of Stiles’s neck when he steps past Stiles and takes the garland to the fireplace.

Stiles’s eyes follow Derek, his neck branded where Derek touched him, the sensation moving south and enveloping him. That’s when Stiles knows he’s on the edge of something, a cliff where a river roars, deep and powerful below the rocks and the only way down is a blind leap. Stiles steps away from the edge to catch his breath and continues unpacking the box in front of him.

The last thing they do is the tree. It’s tall, nearly twenty-four feet, and pre-lit with white lights. 

Stiles steps back and puts a hand on his hip. “We can’t decorate the tree.”

Derek’s head pops around from behind the tree. He’s still barefoot and Stiles’s heart forgets how to work every time he sees them. “Why?”

Stiles shakes his head and makes a show of rolling his eyes. “You can’t decorate a tree without spiced wine, or spiked eggnog, or hot chocolate with Bailey’s. It’s the rules. And we need some music.”

“All your drink options contain alcohol.” Derek’s mouth curves up.

“Of course they do. Drinking and the holidays go together. It’s how everyone copes with too much togetherness time. Go make us some drinks and I’m going to get my bluetooth speaker from my room.” 

Derek crosses his arms and his shirt pulls across shoulders. “You’re bossy.”

Stiles takes a chance. “I think you like it.” Stiles adds a saucy grin and a wink.

Derek laughs and Stiles is fascinated to see the appearance of two well-hidden dimples grace Derek’s face. “No comment.”

“That means yes. Go make me a drink.” Stiles is smiling too much to make it sound like a demand.

Derek walks out of the room without another word, but the smile stays in place on his face and everything is warm and triumphant in Stiles’s chest as he enjoys the view.

\---

Derek can’t shake the way Stiles’s voice spears through him and the look in Stiles’s eyes, playful and serious in turns, as they caress over his skin as Derek goes to the kitchen. He had already made up a batch of spiced apple cider in anticipation of his family coming, so he heats some of that up and fishes around for the rum and the wolfsbane laced rum he keeps for his family. He hasn’t had anything to drink since last Christmas. Not because he doesn’t like it, but drinking is more fun as a social endeavor and there’s not usually someone around that Derek wants to socialize with.

Bing Crosby is crooning about snow when Derek takes the drinks back to Stiles and he hands Stiles the one with the Abominable Snowman on it. Stiles raises his eyebrows and leans closer to Derek. Derek freezes as Stiles sniffs Derek’s drink. 

Stiles’s grin widens. “Wolfsbane liquor?”

Derek sputters. “How did you know?”

“I told you Scott McCall is my best friend and Cora is a close second, though she might claim otherwise.” Stiles shrugs and Derek appreciates the way Stiles’s shirt stretches over his chest. “Plus, wolfsbane has an odor that you can detect when it’s added to a drink.”

Derek gives Stiles an assessing look. Stiles notices things that most humans let slide without a second thought, and Derek appreciates this attention to the details around him that Stiles seems to casually toss around as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. Derek takes a sip of his drink, letting the heat of it and the rum sink into him. Stiles smiles at Derek then puts his drink down to open the box labeled  _ Ornaments _ .

The ornaments are a mix of bulbs, wooden, and handmade things his mother has given him over the years. It was hard for her when he chose to live apart from the pack. As his Alpha, she worried about one of her wolves being alone and as his mother, she grieved for the lonely life he’d chosen. 

Then there is Stiles.

Stiles, who is casually touching him like it’s no big deal, like those casual touches on Derek’s arms, across his back, and over his neck aren’t slowly filling in every crack in his soul. Derek had forgotten what it was like to have those kinds of touches, can’t remember the last person outside of the pack who treated him like he was something to be cherished.

A laugh from up on the ladder snaps Derek out of his own thoughts. Stiles is smiling, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“You’re not helping. You’re just standing there looking at my ass while I’m up on this ladder.” Stiles winks as he steps off the ladder and dances those long, nimble fingers over Derek’s arm. 

Derek should have been checking out Stiles instead of wallowing. He can feel his face heat and drains his glass to cover his embarrassment. Stiles’s cup is also mostly empty.

“I’ll get us refills.” Derek holds out his hand and allows his fingers to slide up Stiles’s wrist and hands before taking the cup. A soaring feeling swoops through him when Stiles’s heart speeds up and Derek can smell how much Derek affects him. 

He smiles all the way back to the kitchen, makes the drinks a little stronger than is advisable, and returns to Stiles. He stops in the doorway to appreciate the way Stiles’s lithe body, all ropey muscle and easy movements, take up the space around him. Stiles glances up, sees Derek hovering, and smiles broader in greeting. His brown eyes are almost gold in the light of the tree and Derek has to remind his body how to move.

Derek steps into Stiles’s orbit, as if there was any other choice, and hands him the cup. 

Stiles takes a sip and gives Derek an assessing look. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

“Is it working?” Derek isn’t sure what his mouth is even doing.

Stiles snorts and takes another sip. “Pro tip, you don’t need to get me drunk. I’ll go willingly.”

Derek takes too big of a sip of his own drink and coughs. “Where’re we going?”

“Hopefully somewhere where we need a lot less clothes.” Stiles chuckles and picks up another ornament to put on the tree.

Derek stares at him open-mouthed, heart racing, mind unable to come up with anything other than the image of Stiles naked.

Stiles head peeks around the side of the tree. “Are you going to keep fantasising about me or are you going to put some ornaments on the tree?”

Derek laughs, a real one that warms him, as he takes another sip of his drink before putting it down and picking up an ornament from the box. They work in silence, the music in the background, and an increasing sense of boldness filling Derek. Stiles touches him every time he passes by and Derek catalogues each one, can feel those fingers long after they’ve left him as if each place is tattooed.

He’s behind the tree, hanging an ornament of metal that he purchased from a local blacksmith three years ago, when Stiles comes around the tree, hands empty, stalking him. Derek swallows and watches Stiles approach, blood roaring in his ears and his body wanting to reach out, to grab, to feel, but he can’t move.

Stiles puts one hand on Derek’s hip, sliding it around to the small of his back and one hand on Derek’s neck. He uses the two leverage points to ring their bodies together, every angle and increasing hardness pressed together.

“Can I kiss you?” Stiles’s pupils are wide and his voice is rough with need.

Derek nods. “Yes, please.”

Derek expects Stiles to crash in, but instead he leans in slow and barely touches Derek, lips ghosting over him once, twice, before crushing into him. Stiles’s tongue slips across the seam of Derek’s mouth and Derek opens up, wrapping his arms around Stiles. Derek grips the back of Stiles’s neck and his hand slides under the bottom of Stiles’s shirt until he can feel the skin underneath. 

The gingery smell that Derek has come to associate with Stiles deepens and warms as Stiles’s arousal fills what miniscule space is between them. They back up until Derek’s back is to the wall and the front of him is ablaze with Stiles. A moan, small but loud enough for Stiles to hear, is pulled from Derek as Stiles cards his fingers through Derek’s hair. 

That’s all the encouragement Stiles needs. Stiles is everywhere, under his hands, pushing into his mouth even as Derek’s tongue tangles into Stiles, the scent of him _ — _ of them _ — _ together filling his nose and it’s suddenly too much. The need, the naked want that is howling through him, is making it hard to breathe, but in a panikly, fighting for air kind of way. Derek pushes against Stiles’s chest, the pressure breaking them apart. The loss of contact feels like the oxygen has been sucked from the room and Derek still can’t, just can’t anything. His body is screaming for him to pull Stiles back at the same time it is howling  _ danger _ in his ears and Derek can’t separate the two. 

Derek takes a step to the side, chest heaving, black spots on the edges of his vision, and does the worst thing. Derek turns tail and runs out of the room.

He slams into his own apartment, shedding clothes as he walks through his own space. His wolf is angry he left Stiles but his brain can’t get rid of the fight or flight response. Derek stands in front of the door that leads outside, his face pressed against the glass, and he can hear Stiles, heat beating rabbit fast, coming closer.

Derek steps out into the snow, shifts, and runs into the woods.

\---

Stiles doesn’t need confirmation that something went very wrong at some point, but the trail of clothes and Derek’s empty room are a punch to the gut. It figures that Stiles would start feeling something for the one person that is so opposed to kissing Stiles that he has to run away into the snow. As a wolf. 

Stiles puts a hand on his pants and adjusts himself. This is definitely not how he imagined the day going. Stiles leaves Derek’s room and goes back to the main room with it’s half decorated tree and music still playing, sounding too cheery and harsh in the empty room. He turns off the music and stands in the middle of the room, sipping the rest of his cider, and looks at the tree. Stiles finishes his own cider and reaches for Derek’s cup.

Stiles puts his lips against the warm ceramic and closes his eyes, remembering Derek’s lips in the same place, and his chest cracks open with the rejection and spurned want that’s still pouring from him. Stiles chugs the rest of the cider, though he knows the wolfsbane will do nothing good to him and he’ll regret it in the morning. He already regrets enough of the afternoon, one more drop in the bucket could hardly matter.

Stiles falls asleep with his head fuzzy and the taste of Derek taunting him.

He wakes up in the morning with a pounding headache and a heart that aches more than it should after a couple days of acquaintance. Stiles drags himself into the shower trying to gather enough anger to replace the rejection, but he never quite gets there and leaves his room feeling worse than when he woke. 

The lodge is quiet. The tree is still half decorated, taunting Stiles with his aborted attempt at seduction. He checks his phone as he walks to the kitchen, but the roads are still closed, it’s Christmas Eve, and Stiles will spend it alone because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself.

The small table in the kitchen, which usually holds breakfast, is empty.

It’s dumb, but Stiles has to blink away moisture in his eyes and he misses his dad with a fierce longing that steals the air from his lungs. He opens a few cupboards until he finds the French press and the coffee. He takes deep breaths and considers his options while he waits for the coffee to brew.

In the end, he decides to text Cora first.

**You never told me your brother was an emotionally stunted asshole.**

Cora responds almost right away.  **He’s not that bad. He’s really a marshmallow. What happened?**

Stiles types a few messages and deletes them before settling on the simple truth.  **I kissed him and he ran off, literally, as a wolf in the woods and is now avoiding me, I think.**

Cora replies back with a laughing emoji then the typing bubbles bob up and down for a long time.  **You should talk to him and ask him why he ran. If he’s serious about you, he’ll tell you the truth, but it should come from him, not me. I think you two would be good for each other. You’re both idiots.**

Stiles frowns at his phone.  **Thanks, I think.**

**Good luck.**

Stiles digs through another cabinet and finds some bread, makes himself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and washes it down with his coffee. He cleans up the small mess he made, pours himself another cup of coffee and wanders back into the main room. Stiles settles into the couch, looks at the tree, and considers his very few options. He’s not one to wallow, so he finishes his coffee and assesses what’s left to do on the tree. He turns the Christmas music back on and finishes the job that got interrupted last night.

The other boxes they brought up yesterday are full of various garlands and knick knacks. Stiles pulls each of them out their packaging and places them around the main room, over the front desk. He even finds a small pre-lit tree, the kind that sits on top of a table, and sets it up on the coffee table in Derek’s small living room. He tucks an index card into the branches that says,  _ I’m sorry _ . 

Stiles puts out every bit of Christmas cheer from the boxes and takes the boxes back down to the basement when he’s done. He vacuums up the tinsel and other debris that decorating has left on the floor with a vacuum from the supply closet, then goes to survey the results. The lodge is bursting with cheer and Stiles stands in the middle of it completely adrift in loneliness. 

Stiles makes himself some lunch, a sandwich and an apple he finds in the fridge, then makes a fire in the fireplace, and settles into the couch to read. He must fall asleep at some point because he wakes with a start and the windows are dark with the night sky. The tree lights and lights from the garland on the mantelpiece are the only lights in the room. The twinkling lights should be cheery, but the little bulbs seem to mock him with their brightness because everything in him is grey. Stiles is still alone and it’s still Christmas Eve. 

His chest hurts and there’s a churning of sorrow in his gut that makes his heart slow and his breath come out shaky. Stiles scrubs his hands over his face.  _ What the hell do I do now? _

His stomach growls. “Well, at least I can feed myself something and maybe find the alcohol or cookies or something.” He runs a hand through his hair. “I’m alone on Christmas Eve, snowed in with the only person around for miles who I’ve managed to run off… And now I’m talking to myself. Fan fucking tastic.”

Stiles heaves himself off the couch and pads down to the kitchen. After some consideration, he gets out bread, eggs, vanilla, milk, sugar, cinnamon, and syrup. He isn’t a great cook, but French Toast is something he’s perfected over the years. He cracks the eggs and turns on the griddle, letting the routine of cooking take over the mess of his mind and the empty weight in his chest. 

He’s half-way through cooking the first batch when the door to the kitchen opens. Stiles tries to hold onto his anger and disappointment, but when he turns to look at Derek the other man’s visage breaks him open all over again and his anger drips away. Derek’s eyes are filled with regret and a burden Stiles can’t name. There are small wrinkles and bags around Derek’s eyes and his shoulders are rolled forward. 

Stiles turns his back to Derek and flips the French toasts. “Sit down. I’m almost done with this batch. I have one more then we can eat.”

Stiles puts the finished toasts in a pan, slides them into the oven to keep warm, and dips more bread in the egg mixture for the last batch. He washes his hands while the toasts cook, then gets out another plate, fork, and knife. He can feel Derek watching him. Stiles steals a glance at Derek and is punched by the raw yearning in the other man’s gaze. Stiles smiles a little when his back is to Derek again. 

_ Maybe, all is not lost in that area after all. _

Stiles pours them both some orange juice and sets everything out on the small table in the corner. Stiles starts filling his own plate, but Derek hasn’t moved.

Stiles points to the pile of French Toast. “Eat. We can talk after.”

Derek nods and the meal proceeds in silence. Stiles usually tries to fill gaps between words, the blank space of silence makes him awkward, but he lets it linger over the meal. It feels old and comfortable in a way he’s never experienced and Stiles enjoys the meal, even though there’s no conversation. 

Derek cleans up and finally breaks the silence. “Will you come sit by the fire with me?”

Derek rebuilds the fire, adding more logs and kindling, while Stiles curls up on one side of the couch. Derek lights the fire and perches on the side of the couch far away from Stiles and tense, like he might bolt at any time.

“I’m sorry about yesterday.” Derek is gripping his own hands and his eyes are fixed on his feet.

“It’s okay,” Stiles says.

Derek looks at him then. “It’s not,” he growls out, then takes a breath. “It’s not and you should know why. When I was a teenager, I thought I was in love with an older woman. She seduced me to get to my family and if my mother hadn’t found out.” Derek makes a choking sound. “She was a hunter and had planned with her father to kill my family using the information I had given her because I thought I could trust her.”

“Christ, Derek.” Stiles aches for the boy that was Derek. He can see the guilt still weighing him down, exiling him to this lodge in the middle of nowhere.

“Last time I let myself be physically close to someone, I almost got my family killed.” Derek meets Stiles’s gaze and Stiles is sliced open by the grief there.

Stiles scoots closer and pries Derek’s hands apart and takes them in his own. “Derek, you were just a kid. She took advantage of you.”

“It doesn’t excuse the mistake.”

Something catches in Stiles’s brain. “Hold up. Are you saying you haven’t been with anyone since then, at all?”

Derek’s neck and ears turn red and he averts his eyes.

“Oh my God. No wonder you ran off on me yesterday.” Stiles squeezes Derek’s hands. “I should be the one apologizing.”

Derek looks at him again. “You didn’t know.”

Stiles inches closer, thigh pressed to Derek’s thigh and their faces close, but Stiles is careful to maintain some distance. “Is this okay?”

Derek nods.

“Why are you telling me now?” Stiles is desperate to know the answer, to know if Derek will crush the small growing feeling in his chest or if he’s going to water it until it takes over everything. 

Derek glances down at his feet, but then his hands tighten on Stiles’s hands and his blue and green eyes hold steady on Stiles. “You’re the first person I’ve wanted to be with since Kate.” The tips of Derek’s ears are red again. “Also, my wolf likes you. A lot.”

Stiles can’t help the grin that spreads over his face. “Does he now.” Stiles licks his lips, watches Derek watching him and has an idea. “How about this. How about we only do what you want. You be in charge of how fast or slow we go and I won’t do anything unless you ask or lead that direction and you can say no and stop me any time. Do you think you can ask for what you want?”

Derek nods. “I think so.”

“And if anything is too much, you tell me and we’ll back up.” Fire is already licking through him and Derek hasn’t even touched him yet. 

Derek nods again. “I think I can do that.”

Stiles grins. “Good because I really would like to kiss you again if you’re up for it.”

Derek wraps one of his hands around Stiles’s neck _ — _ palm a brand, claiming something Stiles knows is already his own - and brings them together until Derek’s lips ghost over his for an instant until they become more insistent. Stiles expects Derek to be hesitant, but Stiles handing over his control seems to have unlocked something and Derek's mouth is possessive. Stiles would grin but he’s too busy keeping up with Derek.

One of Derek’s hands is still on Stiles’s neck, fingers digging into flesh, and the other hand slides under Stiles’s shirt _ — _ thumb and forefinger sliding under the waistband of Stiles’s jeans. Stiles desperately wants to move, to touch, but he holds himself still, every part of his body screaming to touch.

Derek kisses down Stiles’s neck and Stiles uses the opportunity to ask, “Can I straddle you and touch you.”

Derek pauses long enough to say, “Please.”

Stiles throws his leg around Derek and presses down into him, the friction of their combined need enough to make him shudder and throw his head back. Derek’s hand never leaves Stiles’s neck and the other man uses it now to bring Stiles back to him. He titles Stiles’s head to the side and Stiles thinks Derek is going to kiss him again, but instead he feels Derek’s blunt human teeth on his skin where shoulder and neck meet. Derek’s entire body shakes and Stiles grinds down on Derek, hips moving of their own account. Every pleasure point narrows to that contact of teeth on skin and tendon and it bursts like a star inside Stiles.

Derek’s teeth stay there _ — _ Stiles knows he’ll have an impressive bruise tomorrow, but he doesn’t give a shit _ — _ and Stiles uses the permission he’s been given to slide his hands under Derek’s shirt, finally touching the skin he’s wanted under his palms. Derek is kissing the spot that he bit and Stiles really wants them both to have less clothes on but he has to be patient and wait for Derek. 

Stiles runs his fingers, then palms over Derek’s chest under his shirt, putting more pressure on the pebble of Derek’s nipples and enjoying the textures of hard planes and crisp hair. 

Derek grabs the hem of Stiles’s shirt. “May I?”

“Will you take off yours too?” Stiles counters.

A grin that Stiles hasn’t seen before on Derek, feral and eager, runs over the other man’s face and Stiles’s hips jerk over Derek’s cock, the pressure of their pants a pain and pleasure. Derek pulls Stiles’s shirt off first before yanking his own over his head. Derek’s hands go to Stiles’s waist, rocking him into Derek, and Stiles breath hitches, need clawing at him. 

Derek leans forward and kisses Stiles’s chest, sucking on his nipples, his strong fingers digging into Stiles’s waist. Derek leans back to look at Stiles’s face and Stiles almost follows him but he hesitates.

Derek licks his lips and Stiles follows the movement. “Can we go somewhere else?” Derek asks.

“Anywhere.”

“I’d like us to have less clothes on.” Derek’s voice is hesitant and Stiles hopes that Kate is rotting in a very unpleasant prison somewhere for putting that doubt into this wonderful, beautiful man.

Stiles wants to know what’s allowed. “Define less.”

Derek swallows and Stiles watches the movement. “I want you, us, naked in my bed. I want the smell of us together there.”

Liquid fire pours into Stiles’s veins at the words as he stands and starts unbuttoning his jeans. Stiles pulls them off, boxers and all, and kicks them off. That gleam is back in Derek’s eyes and he reaches out to grab Stiles, but Stiles shimmies to the side, just out of Derek’s grip with a laugh. Stiles starts walking towards Derek’s rooms, looking over his shoulder, taunting the wolf to chase him.

Derek doesn’t hesitate. He stalks Stiles while he undoes his own jeans and takes them off in a fluid motion that makes Stiles’s mouth dry and his feet almost stumble. Stiles almost forgets he’s supposed to be giving Derek a chase as everything in him urges him to run forward, toward, not away. Derek takes another step forward, hard cock free and bobbing, and Stiles fists his hands at his sides with the need to wrap around that hard length. 

Stiles needs to cool off his own desire to move this along so he takes off one sock and throws it at Derek, who laughs when it hits him in the chest. Stiles takes off the other sock, turns his back to the predator behind him, and breaks into a run throwing the sock over his shoulder. 

Derek growls behind him and Stiles makes it to Derek’s door before he is slammed into the wood, Derek’s body pressing him into the cold, flat surface. Derek’s the same height as Stiles and Derek’s cock slides between the cleft of Stiles’s cheeks perfectly. Stiles’s knees are weak, but the pressure of Derek at his back is holding him up.

Derek’s voice is a growled whisper in his ear. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to run from a wolf?”

“What if I wanted to be chased? Wanted to be caught?” Stiles’s voice is harsh with the need coursing through him.

Derek growls, chest vibrating against Stiles’s back as he runs his hands down Stiles’s sides, leaving goosebumps and fire in their wake. “I believe what I asked for was you naked in my bed.”

“You’ll have to let me go for that to happen, but I’m more than happy to be naked anywhere you want me.”

Derek rubs against Stiles. “I love the things that come out of your mouth.”

Stiles pushes his hips back. “I think you’ll find that you like things in it much better.”

“Best way to shut you up.”

“The only way. Why don’t you try it and see how it works?”

Derek is gone and the air on Stiles skin pricks with cold and absence. Derek reaches around Stiles, grabs the doorknob, and opens the door as he snakes a hand around Stiles’s waist to hold him up. Stiles leans back into that touch. Derek runs his hands down Stiles’s sides with firm pressure, sliding down past Stiles’s hips, and wrapping one hand around Stiles’s cock and the other around Stiles’s thigh. Stiles jerks into Derek’s grip and Derek pumps him from tip to base, once, twice, and three times until Stiles is trembling all over, again. 

Stiles’s head falls back onto Derek’s shoulder, head angled to give Derek access to the point he marked earlier. Derek places feather-light kisses there, chest rumbling.

Derek’s words dance over Stiles’s over-sensitive skin. “I’m going to let go. Do you still want to come to bed with me?” 

Stiles reaches behind him and grabs the nape of Derek’s neck. “I hope we aren’t going to sleep.”

“Sleeping is definitely not what I had in mind.” Derek releases him and takes a step back.

Stiles turns around and kisses Derek on the mouth, pressure firm, but mouth closed. “Good. I’m not tired. Yet.” Stiles winks and walks through the front two rooms and back to Derek’s bedroom. He crawls onto the bed, stretches out on his side and pats the bed.

Derek has paused in the doorway to the bedroom. “I knew you’d come in here the other day, while I was gone. I could smell you in here and it made me want this.” Derek takes a step into the room. “I wanted you in my bed.” Another step. “As if I hadn’t already thought of it.” His knees hit the mattress and he looks down at Stiles. “And now you’re here. I don’t know what to do first.”

Stiles knows he still has to move with caution, knows that even as well as it’s going, Derek has still been very hurt. “I have some ideas. Will you come lay down with me?”

Derek nods and stretches out beside Stiles, feet and legs tangling, arms wrapped around each other, but Stiles can feel the steel beneath Derek’s skin, the memories keeping him tense.

“Can I kiss you?” Stiles asks.

Derek nods. Stiles kisses him slow, like they have all the time in the world, soft and teasing until he feels the metal under Derek’s skin warm and become pliable.

“I’d like to put your cock in my mouth.” Stiles doesn’t phrase it like a question but it clearly is and Derek’s pupils expand.

Derek swallows and says, “I want to be inside you, on top when I come, if you’re ok with being on bottom.”

Stiles can’t form words for a minute so he nods. “Fuck yes. Though I have to warn you, I do like being in charge occasionally and topping.”

Derek chuckles and Stiles feels it everywhere. “I’d be surprised if you said anything different.”

Stiles kisses Derek then, desperate and sloppy. When he breaks away, both of them panting. “I never thought a conversation about consent would be so fucking sexy. I want to devour you right now.”

Derek smirks and rolls onto his back. “Go right ahead.”

Stiles is salivating at having Derek laid out like a damn buffet and he wants all of it at once. He runs his hands all over Derek’s chest and sides, placing small kisses in the wake of his hands, moving lower with slow deliberation to allow Derek to ask him to stop. Derek is silent, but moves against Stiles in a way that is encouraging. Stiles gets to his goal, and lays a kiss at the base of Derek’s cock, the length of him against Stiles’s cheek.

“You still okay?”

“I’ll be better if you stick that in your mouth.” Derek’s hand fists into Stiles’s hair.

Stiles doesn’t need to be told twice. He slides his eager mouth over Derek’s uncut cock until it bumps the back of his throat. The taste of Derek’s precome is on his tongue, the musk smell of Derek is in his nose, and his own dick is aching. Stiles wraps one hand around Derek’s cock sliding up and down to the movement of his mouth and the other hand he wraps around Derek’s hip, leaving his own cock free.

Derek pulls a little on Stiles’s hair and directs the movements of his head because Stiles has his hip pinned in his grip. It doesn’t take long before Stiles has Derek whimpering beneath him. Stiles slows his movements and lets Derek fall out of his mouth. He sits up on his knees and wraps the hand that was just around Derek around his own cock, hissing at the pressure after aching for so long.

“I want you inside me. Over me,” Stiles says, eyes locked on Derek as he pumps himself twice, hips jerking of their own volition. “Please.” 

Derek sits up, puts his shaking hands on Stiles’s hips and flips them neatly, so that he’s covering Stiles. Derek reaches between them and encompasses them both with one hand and they both pump into that tight grip.

“Fuck, I’m not going to last if you keep doing that,” Stiles manages to get out.

Derek chuckles. “Next time then.”

Derek reaches into the drawer of the bedside table and pulls out a bottle of lube, pouring a generous amount on his fingers. He lets it drip, shockingly cold on Stiles’s skin as it drips down from his cock into his ass. Derek grabs Stiles behind the knee with his clean hand and presses one finger against Stiles’s opening. 

Stiles squirms against him and Derek presses his finger slowly into Stiles, the burn and pressure too much and not enough. Derek leans his head down and takes Stiles’s cock in his mouth and swallows his as he pushes his finger in all the way. 

Stiles is panting at the sensation of Derek’s finger filling him and his mouth on him. “Please.” He’s not even sure what he’s asking for, but Derek does because Derek pulls his finger out and pushes back in, his mouth on Stiles’s cock mirroring the movement. 

A few more times and Derek slides two fingers into Stiles as Stiles pushes down against him, eager and needy. Derek stops sucking Stiles’s dick, and Stiles is both grieved and glad since he’s sure he was about to lose everything down Derek’s throat.

“I need more,” Stiles says, and the burn of Derek’s third finger is welcome. “I’m ready. Please, please, Derek.”

Derek looks shaken when Stiles says his name and leans over and kisses Stiles with his fingers still up Stiles’s ass. Stiles returns the kiss eagerly, pushing down on Derek’s fingers in a silent plea.

Derek breaks the kiss and grabs the lube again, spreading it over himself, eyes serious, but mouth smirking. “You look gorgeous like this, open and begging for it.”

“I’ll say anything you want, just get that inside of me, now.”

“My pleasure.” Derek lines up and pushes into Stiles.

It’s too slow though and Stiles jerks his hips upward, the whoosh of sensation exactly what he needed. He wants to weep with relief at finally having Derek in him, but then when Derek bottoms out, Stiles needs him to move. Derek pulls out and pushes back in with an infuriating slowness that Stiles is positive Derek is doing to drive him insane. 

Derek shifts a bit when he thrusts in the next time and bumps Stiles’s prostate and everything white’s out. Derek does it again, picking up the pace by increments, and Stiles is meeting Derek’s movements with his own. The sound of them coming together and their harsh breathing are the only sounds in the room. 

Stiles’s cock is hard and leaking between them so he wraps his hand around himself, stroking to the sliding of their bodies. The movement of his hand is jerky _ — _ it’s too hard to concentrate while Derek is breaking him apart in all the best ways _ — _ but they’re both so close, it doesn’t matter. 

Derek’s hips slam into Stiles with more force than before and that’s all it takes. Stiles comes all over his stomach and Derek’s. Derek lifts Stiles’s knee a little higher and thrusts in twice more before he’s repeating Stiles name over and over, pumping warmth into Stiles, and they both slow through the aftershocks of their shared orgasm.

Stiles mourns the loss of Derek’s body in his when the other man pulls out and Stiles whines. Derek’s look is gentle, turning Stiles even more boneless than he already was, breaking the last shred of sanity he has left. Derek levers himself out of the bed, walks into the adjoining bathroom, and comes back with a warm washcloth. He cleans up Stiles, then himself. Placing kisses over Stiles’s skin. 

Stiles snuggles under the covers and opens them up to Derek when he returns from the bathroom. Derek crawls in next to Stiles and Stiles wraps himself around Derek, pulling Derek back to his front and holding him in place.

“Thank you.” Derek wraps his hand around Stiles’s wrist.

Stiles buries his face in Derek’s neck and kisses him on his nape. “Don’t thank me yet. I’m looking forward to having you beg beneath me.” Stiles kisses him again. “You’re welcome. Thank you, for everything.”

“Goodnight, Stiles.”

“Goodnight, Sexywolf.”

Derek chuckles and Stiles holds him tighter. They fall asleep and Stiles fiercely wishes they could stay snowed in forever.

\---

Derek wakes up with a warm weight on his chest. Stiles’s head is on his shoulder and Stiles’s body is half over his. It's not the most comfortable position, but Derek wouldn’t move for anything. The bed smells like them together and everything they did, and Derek sinks into the feeling of home and comfort that has eluded him, always out of reach, until Stiles showed up on his doorstep a few days ago. He should be alarmed at how quickly he’s become attached to Stiles, but everything about this feels right, inevitable in a way nothing else has.

Stiles’s heartbeat changes and his breathing shifts so Derek knows the other man is waking up. The roads will be open soon and Stiles will leave and the pain that pierces through Derek is incandescent. 

Stiles lifts himself on his elbow and looks down at Derek. “Morning.” Something hard and getting harder is making itself known against Derek’s leg.

Derek reaches between them and wraps his hand around Stiles, and Stiles hisses. “I can think of one way to make it a better morning.”

Stiles pops a finger in his own mouth and makes a show of sucking it in and out. Derek is mesmerized, hoping he knows where this is going.

Stiles presses the wet digit against Derek’s hole and asks, “Can I?”

“Yes, please.”

Stile proceeds to break Derek apart, first with his long, talented fingers and then with his dick until Derek is a quivering, begging mess.

Afterwards, they shower together, taking their time, washing each other’s hair and bodies. Fear is starting to trickle into Derek, knives of ice, because he knows this can’t last. He pushes it down and focuses on Stiles, determined to soak up as much of Stiles as he can before the roads open.

While they make lunch _ — _ they completely missed breakfast - Stiles’s hands almost never leave Derek and Derek can’t resist touching Stiles, trailing fingers, hip to hip, arms from behind. Derek wants this forever so bad he can feel the ache of the need growing wider by the minute.

Stiles starts laughing out of the blue and Derek turns to look at him, eyebrows up in a question.

Stiles throws his arms wide. “Merry Christmas!”

Derek smiles, leans over and kisses Stiles. “Merry Christmas. Should we make something nice for dinner?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“I had a ham and a bunch of sides planned for my family but we’ll be cooking for the rest of the day if we have that.” Derek is hesitant, wants to spend the day exploring the parts of Stiles he’s been in too much of a hurry to get to. 

“I’d rather find other things to do than cook. How about we eat, I take off all your clothes again, and then we figure out dinner later.” Stiles gives him a wink, suggestive, but still putting the ball in Derek’s court. 

The tenderness of the way Stiles never forgot, no matter what they were doing last night and this morning, that Derek needed to be in control, to be able to stop if he needed to, is heady, takes the air from Derek and makes his heart hurt in his chest in the best possible way. 

Derek nods. “Lunch first.”

They get through most of their lunch, but they end up chasing each other around the tree in the main room, throwing articles of clothing at each other until they are both barefoot and in jeans. Stiles is yelling insults that are very colorful and creative when Derek tackles him, careful not to hurt him as they tumble to the ground.

“None of the words coming out of your mouth contain any sense,” Derek growls in Stiles’s ear and is rewarded with Stiles shivering beneath him. Derek grinds against Stiles’s ass and Stiles pushes up to meet him.

“Better shut me up then. I recall you’re pretty good at it.” Stiles wiggles his ass into Derek and Derek groans.

Derek leans down and takes Stiles’s earlobe between his teeth when he hears the noise. Tires on snow. Coming closer.

“Shit.”

“I know, hurry up and get your pants off so I can get my hands on you.” Stiles is trying valiantly to twist so that he is facing Derek.

“No, shit like someone is coming to the lodge,” Derek clarifies.

“But the roads are closed.” There’s a whine in Stiles voice and Derek feels it. Can feel the loss of Stiles already and the next breath he takes in is like glass in his throat.

Everything hurts as Derek says, “Have you checked the roads today?”

Stiles pauses. “No. I don’t even know where my phone is.” Stiles lifts his head and looks around the room. “Probably in those jeans I took off over there yesterday.”

The cars park outside, there are four of them, and Derek tilts his head listening. “Shit. It’s my family.”

“Your what?” Stiles yells the last word.

Stiles starts scrambling, eyes wide and looking for his shirt, but Derek knows it won’t help. There is no way they can cover up what the two of them have been doing for the last couple days, nor does Derek want to.

The front door opens and his family and then to his horror, Sheriff Stilinski, pile into the lodge.

Cora starts laughing hysterically. “Well, I guess now we know why they weren’t answering their phones.”

Laura’s eyes are watering with suppressed laughter as she pulls a twenty out of her pocket and hands it to Cora. “I can’t believe you were right.”

Sheriff Stilinski crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m not sure I even want to know.”

“Hey, Pops. Merry Christmas.” Stiles pulls a shirt he scooped up from the floor over his head, but it’s Derek’s from yesterday which, while Derek wants to practically preen at the sight, isn’t helping at all since Cora starts laughing again and Laura gives in and doubles over.

Talia rolls her eyes, waving a hand at her daughters. “You two go unpack the car.” She looks at Derek. “Is everyone in the same rooms?”

“Uh, I put Stiles in Cora’s room so I’ll have to make up a new one.”

Stiles moves to Derek’s side and threads their fingers together. “I can move into Derek’s room and help him clean the room I was in.” Stiles turns his head to Derek. “If that’s okay with you.”

It’s more than okay. “Yes, I’d like that.”

“Oh my God, just start making out again.” Cora mumbles as she comes in lugging suitcases.

“So I guess the roads are open,” Stiles comments.

Stiles releases Derek’s hand to hug his father. The two men hold on to each other and Stiles says in a low voice. “I’m glad you’re here. I hated thinking we were going to be apart for Christmas.”

Stiles steps back from his father and Derek’s mother eyes Stiles. Derek can see when her gaze finds the bruise on Stiles’s neck, perfect teeth marks on pale skin, telling everyone that Stiles is claimed. She meets his gaze with a look Derek knows means he’s in for a long and serious conversation later. Talia opens her arms to Stiles and Stiles goes willingly. “Welcome to the family, Stiles.”

Stiles ducks his head when she releases him, glances back at Derek who suddenly wishes what his mother was assuming was true, that Stiles might stay here with him. Derek reigns in his feelings. He doesn’t want to explain everything to his family when he can barely explain them to Stiles, to himself.

Derek clears his throat. “Stiles, will you help me with Cora’s room?”

Stiles bestows a smile on him that warms Derek everywhere. “Of course. Go get new sheets and towels and I’ll meet you there. I’ll pack up my stuff.”

By the time Derek gets to the room Stiles was staying in, Stiles has his bags by the door and the bed stripped. Derek knows he has to tell Stiles something before one of his family lets something slip that will make this situation infinitely worse.

“I need to tell you something.” Derek puts the sheets on the chair in the room and pulls out the fitted sheet.

Stiles’s smile dims a little. “I shouldn’t have asked to stay with you in front of our parents. That probably embarrassed you. You don’t want to keep doing this with them here.” There is rejection in Stiles’s voice and his smell turns sour. “I’ll move my stuff into a different room.”

It takes a minute for Stiles’s words to register so it takes Derek way too long to say, “What? No. No, I do  _ not _ want you in a different room. I want you in my room. Forever.”

Stiles’s mouth makes an O shape, closes, then he says, “Forever.”

Derek looks anywhere but at Stiles. “I’d like you to stay as long as you want. Here. With me. My wolf is already attached to you and I am too. I’d like it if you stayed.”

Stiles’s smile tips back up and he crawls across the bed on his knees to Derek. “You’re in luck on multiple fronts. First, I’d like nothing more than to stay here with you for as long as you’ll have me. I woke up this morning dreading leaving.” Stiles places a small kiss at the corner of Derek’s mouth. “Second, I’m only teaching a half-load, online this spring because I got a grant to do some research. I’ll need to travel a bit, but I can make this my home base for a few months while we figure out if you can really stand me day in and day out.”

The joy that bubbles over in Derek completely banishes all the fears he’s kept alive for years. “You want to stay?”

“Are you sure you want me to?” Stiles counters.

Derek nods. “More than anything.”

Stiles closes the distance between them and Derek lets himself fall into the kiss, lets Stiles take over in every way.

Derek breaks the kiss and runs a hand down Stiles’s cheek, along his neck, and runs a finger over the teeth marks on Stiles’s neck. Derek clears his throat. “I’m sorry I marked you without permission.”

Stiles chuckles. “That’s ok, sourwolf. I liked it.”

Derek shakes his head. “No, I mean, I  _ marked _ you.”

Stiles laughs and cups Derek’s face with his hands. “Derek, Scott and Cora are my best friends. I study history and mythology. Do you really think I don’t know what that means? That you’ve basically put a tattoo on me that says  _ Property of Derek grumpy ass Hale _ .”

Derek can feel his ears heat. “Are you sure?” Hope blossoms in his chest but he’s so afraid to acknowledge it.

Stiles pulls Derek in for a kiss. “I’m sure.”

The door opens behind them. Isaac says, “If you two have sex on the bed before Cora gets a chance to sleep in it, I’ll give you fifty bucks.”

Stiles raises an eyebrow at Derek and Derek laughs, full and free. “Absolutely not.”

Derek can see Cora around Isaac, her eyes are glassy and she has a wide smile on her face. 

She rearranges it into a frown and says, “Stop stinking up my room and take that elsewhere.”

Derek pecks Stiles’s cheek. “I’ll go get everyone settled into rooms. Will you start making some spiked cider and open some wine?”

“Of course, but maybe I should pick up the clothes we left in the main room.”

They all laugh and Derek is almost out the door when he hears Cora grab Stiles and squeeze him in a wolf hug. She whispers, but Derek can hear her words. “Thank you for making him happy.”

Derek swallows the lump in his throat and gets to work. Everyone has gone to their usual rooms, but he needs to show the sheriff where to go. There is a suite available next to his parents and he leads Stiles’s dad there.

Derek hands the other man the key, keeping his eyes down in submission. “Sheriff, I want you to know I respect and care for your son.”

There is a warm hand on his shoulder and Derek looks up. “First of all, son, please call me Noah. Second, I already know that because I have eyes in my head and I see how you two look at each other. Third, welcome to the family.”

Derek wants to laugh at the way father and son sound so much alike and he doesn’t know what to say. “Thank you. I’ll take good care of him.”

Noah shakes his head. “Take good care of each other.”

“Okay. Let me know if you need anything in your room. Once you get settled, we’ll gather in the main room.” 

When Derek gets to the main room, Stiles is holding court by the fire, telling a story. Derek watches Stiles talk, arms and hands moving, to emphasize just how rude Derek was when he’d arrived in the midst of a snowstorm. Derek shakes his head and walks across the room to stand beside Stiles. 

They slide their arms around each other and Derek can see his mom in the hallway, watching them with a smile on her face.

Stiles slides his nose against Derek’s. “You realize, we’re basically one of those terrible holiday movies, right?”

Derek drops his voice even though it won’t hide what he says from his family. “Only our version is better because it involved way more sex.”

Laura flops onto the couch. “I’m happy for you two, but gross.”

Stiles leans into Derek and gives him an open mouthed kiss and Derek flips off his siblings and Isaac. Derek has to stop kissing Stiles because they’re both laughing too hard to keep it up.

Later that night, after a lot of drinks, more food than is advisable, and a run in the snow, Derek is curled around Stiles, warm in their bed. Derek inhales on the back of Stiles’s neck and Stiles snuggles into him.

Stiles rests his hand on Derek’s thigh. “I’m already the worst boyfriend. I didn’t get you anything for Christmas.”

Derek kisses the skin behind Stiles’s ear. “I got you. That’s more than I ever hoped to have.”

“Put a bow on me tomorrow. Merry Christmas, Derek.”

“Merry Christmas, Stiles.”

  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  


  
  



End file.
